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I looked down at her foot, encased in a big black orthopedic walking boot.
“Fortunately one of Mom’s friends from the Senior Center volunteered to take her shopping until I was driving again,” she said.
“Did you know this friend?”
“No. I never met him, but Mom had known this person for some time. Apparently he was one of those good souls who help out when rides are needed.”
“I don’t suppose you know his name?”
“I believe it was Gordon.”
I saw my whole day go up in smoke. It was Gordon. The Jolly Hobbit. The guy with the car. Mr. Popularity. The guy who would have to strangle a woman with one hand so he could use his bronchial inhaler with the other. Even as I stood there I could hear him wheezing, trying to keep up with Grandma, who was hellbent for the cookie table. Problem was, Gordon could have an accomplice. Gordon could be luring old ladies off into the bushes with the promise of a ride to the butcher shop, and his evil twin, nutso cousin, or whackjob roommate could be strangling them and tossing them into the Dumpster.
I followed Grandma, Gordon, and Randy Berger out of the viewing room into the lobby.
“I’m going to head out,” I told Grandma. “And I told Mom I’d give you a ride home.”
“Thanks,” she said, “but Gordon and I are going for a nightcap after we score some cookies.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I told Grandma. “I promised Mom I’d bring you home.”
“Don’t worry,” Gordon said. “I’ll take good care of her. And I won’t keep her out too late.”
“I’m holding you responsible for her welfare,” I said to him.
“You can count on me,” he said.
SEVENTEEN
I WENT OUT the funeral home’s front door, walked through the parking lot, and bushwhacked my way through a hedge to get to the garages. I emerged from the hedge and experienced a moment of disorientation when I looked around and didn’t see Ranger’s CR-V. I walked to the middle of the drive court and did a 360-degree scan. No car.
I called Ranger. “The strangest thing just happened,” I said. “I came out of the viewing, and your car is gone.”
There was silence on his end, and I assumed he was checking with the control room. All his fleet cars had tracking devices.
“It’s in the police impound lot,” Ranger said.
“I guess I sort of parked illegally, but there weren’t any parking places. I don’t suppose you’d want to give me a ride home?”
“Babe,” Ranger said. And the line went dead.
Ten minutes later Ranger picked me up at the funeral home.
“I thought I had a good lead on the murders, but it evaporated,” I told him. “Did you find out who was taking Melvina shopping?”
“A man named Gordon Krutch. He seems to be the senior citizen go-to guy when someone needs a ride.”
I blew out a sigh.
“Not liking that information?” Ranger asked.
“No. He seems entirely incapable. And he’s with my grandmother.”
“Are you giving up on Bingo?”
“Not entirely. I got a slow cooker out of it.”
“Have you used it?”
